“Now, youngster,” said Alf, “you’ve done all I have required of you, and so good-bye. You’ve made a free man of me.”
The little urchin scampered off, and Alf Purvis found himself alone.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
ALF’S RESOLVE—HIS MEETING WITH THE WHITECHAPEL BIRDCATCHER.
The dinner hour came and passed away, but the inmates of Stoke Ferry Farm saw nothing of Alf Purvis. Mr. Jamblin was surprised at this, for the boy as a rule had always been punctual enough at meal times. The farmer grew fidgetty; he half regretted having made an example of the lad for an offence which, after all, could not be considered to be one of a very grave character.
“That young scapegrace is in his sulks, I expect,” said Jamblin to his daughter. “An’ may be he’s got the hump so strong on him that he’ll be for stoppin’ away for awhile.”
“Never fear,” answered Mr. Philip Jamblin; “he’ll come back again when he’s had his fling and hunger begins to set in. He’ll come back fast enough then, I’ll warrant.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” returned Patty. “He’s got a mighty spirit of his own. He’s a lad one might lead, but I don’t think he’s easy to drive.”
“He’s an obstinate, audacious young varmint, that’s what he be, an’ one as no one can do much good with. Let un stop away an’ he likes,” cried the farmer.
He rose from his seat, and sallied forth into the fields.